Elyse was breathing hard, coming down from orgasm.  Sex with Mae was incredible.  Elyse didn't even think Mae was altering her moods any, but her ability to sense how she felt made Mae an amazing lover.  It was part of the reason why Elyse hadn't experiment with other people; Elyse was worried she'd be completely disappointed.

Mae rolled off of Elyse to lie on her back, and Elyse was happy to see she was breathing heavily too. Elyse reached for Mae's hand, interlacing her fingers with Mae's in their post-coital bliss. Elyse took deep breaths to slow her breathing and to still her heavily beating heart. Tonight was different and her heart wasn't just beating fast because of the physical exertion. She was nervous.

The past several days had been a turmoil for Elyse, mostly due to her father and it's aftermath.  Then Marta showed up in a panic attack.  Mae had been a rock for her the whole time, her unique abilities granting her the wisdom into how to best help her girlfriend.  Most of the time, it was Mae simply letting her cry while still being there, or encouraging simple tasks like getting dressed or eating. Mae had even gone with Elyse to get her new tattoo. The ouroboros was gone.

Elyses feelings for Mae had grown quickly, and Elyse had known from the moment that she had almost unconsciously let the words slip as she spoke on the phone with Mae that this wasn't just situational.  Elyse knew Mae would know it too - she'd feel it. But like the days she needed to cry, she wouldn't force it.  She'd allow Elyse to say it in her own time.

Even knowing that Mae knew it, Elyse was still scared.  Saying the words would make her vulnerable, and even though Mae knew and was still here, it didn't mean Mae would return her feelings. It was also the first time she would say it to someone she was romantically involved with. Saying the words would make it real, and internally, Elyse was struggling to say it, but she had to.  She had to be brave.

Elyse turned to face Mae. "Mae," she said, and waited for Mae to face her. "I have to say something and you don't have to feel the same, but I need you to hear this." She emphasized the word hear, a subtle way to show she was aware Mae would know how she felt. "I love you, Mae." Elyse could feel her heart beginning to pound as she waited for Mae's response, seconds feeling like hours.

Sterling led Marta and the rest of the kids who were running about the sidewalk behind them, the little ones throwing snowballs at the older kids, but they kept their distance from Sterling and Marta. Everyone seemed to understand the space needed, and really it was only the Blackthorn girls who were overly rambunctious -- that was rich brats for you.

Nox's place was literally two buildings down from Kallilsti. And there was a new bar opening up across the street from that. A friend of Nox's who stopped by to check in on the kids -- some sort of therapist and doing a favor for Nox. Sterling didn't ask, but if Nox trusted him, then so did she. Nox didn't trust a lot of people even if it looked like he did.

Sterling pulled the glass double doors open and waved to the entrance going up stairs. "Hey Sky.  We are going downstairs."

The AI Sky spoke from her disembodied speark somewhere in the foyer. "The door is unlocked and I have placed the mechanical ball machines on lock down. Emma should be grateful."

Sterling giggled. "I'm sure we all will be much more at ease knowing we won't have to dodge flying balls."  Sterling led Marta around the corner where the elevator doors were locked close to the basement door on the other side. It wasn't visible from the doors they'd entered and she just turned the knob. Without Sky, they'd have had to wait for Liam or Liv to unlock the door. It wasn't a free for all like the foyer.

The stairs were well lit as they descended but the basement itself was dark. Even the recessed lights didn't really give off much light unless you were directly under them.  The dojo was at the far end of the building, the laundry and rec areas took up the other side. Liam made a beeline for the couch.  Everyone else filed into their usual places. The boys headed straight toward the gym area.  The girls into the spare room that Sterling was surprised anyone wanted to go into -- god only knew what Nox did in there.  

The dojo was just an empty space with six ball machines on the edge of the mat.  Nox used them to practice actual violence, which isn't what they were learning.  Maybe one day he'd let them try, but not all six at the same time. He used the power to defend himself, and he did it blind folded most of the time. He was pedantic about his training.

Sterling took off her shoes at the edge of the mat  near the far wall. "It's polite not to keep your shoes on, but if you have a thing, there are some footy covering things on the rack where we keep our shoes." Sterling showed Marta what she meant and then stepped on to the coushined mat and mobed to the center of it.  Gen stepped next to her and they both waited for Marta.

Gen tugged on Sterling's sleeve. "One Two then Three?"

Sterling smiled. "Yeah let's start with one. We might only do that depends on how Marta catches on k?"  

Gen nodded. "k"

Claude Saint-Clair

Normandy, France

Age: 21

Psychological Description: Quiet and reserved.  Extremely polite with gentlemanly ways and an aristocratic air. He harbors a hidden shame, that only his sister knows about.

Physical Description: 6’1” tall, dark eyes and hair, with a short beard.

Characters Powers and Supernatural Abilities: Channeler, Soul Bound to the Horn of Valere

Current Strength: 0 (Has Not Sparked)

Potential Strength: 20

Reborn God: Leonidas

Tattoo: A Medieval Styled Ouroboros with the words Jer 22:3 hidden within.

Biography

Claude Saint-Clair was born in 2025. In contrast to his robust older sister, Nora Saint-Clair, Claude was rather quiet and reserved. Where she would shirk her lessons to go exploring and have adventures, Claude was studious and attentive, learning his lessons and working to become an aristocratic gentleman.

Despite their differences, Claude looked up to his older sister and found her adventurous spirit intriguing.  He would find himself outside after lessons, searching for unknown paths and unique places in the area surrounding their family home. Generally, brother and sister got along well, having the typical sibling squabbles that would be in any family, but they always meant well. 

Raised in the Roman Catholic faith, Claude found a home there.  He poured himself into scriptures, attended his catechism classes, and was confirmed into the faith at the typical age of seven. As a gift he received a rosary with amethyst gems for beads. It is his most cherished possession.

At the age of ten, Claude noticed a change happening in his home.  Nora was going to have her thirteenth birthday party, and Claude was not invited to attend. The hustle around the house indicated that something important was happening, and Claude was sent elsewhere with servants to take care of him.

After the party, things began to change even more.  Nora began to spend more time with Tanis Peregrym - who they usually called Grym - more and more.  Nora had always looked up to the family servant, but now they were spending a lot more time together, and Claude felt the gap between him and his sister widening.  Not because of how she treated him (in fact, she still made time to talk to him), but because he wasn’t seeing her as much.  For the next few years, Claude would become more reserved.  Any attempts at trying to find where his sister and her mentor went were met with reprimand. He became more reclusive after this and no longer adventured outside after his lessons.  Instead, he poured himself more into scripture, turning to his faith for solace. 

Claude’s drive into scripture would also cause confusion.  As he entered adolescence, he would notice the other boys his age were finding an interest in girls.  He played along, but felt nothing with regards to this, but he began to notice the interest they had in girls was the same as the interest he had in boys. As he read scripture, he saw this was wrong.  He heard the priests at church and other church members say this was wrong.  He kept those feelings buried deep, but they found a way to creep up at times - usually with an off-handed comment from a family member about him “finding a nice girl to marry.” When those occurred, he’d find a way to excuse himself and would go to his room to cry and pray that God would fix him. 

As he approached his thirteenth birthday, Claude noticed the same hustle that had precluded Nora’s thirteenth birthday.  The party, held at the ancestral Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, seemed little like a party - at least to a thirteen year old boy.  He had not been invited to Nora’s party, but Nora had been present at his. At this party, he learned the legacy of the Saint-Clair family; He learned of Jean Saint-Clair and of his battle with the Loup Garou; he saw the Dagger of Benedictus; He learned of of his family’s connection to an ancient order: the Atharim.

Familiar with the liturgy and rituals of the Church, Claude saw this gathering for what it was - a ceremony that would bring him into the fold of the order.  He respected the solemnity of it, and his pride in his family increased.  He was glad to be a part of the fight against the darkness.

It was then he understood finally why Nora had been off with Grym so often.  Unfortunately, shortly after he had been introduced to the Saint-Clair legacy, Nora was injured, and Grym was blamed and dismissed.  An Atharim hunter named Phillipe took the young Claude under his wing and began to train him. Claude was a natural and picked up combat easily.  Blades, firearms, martial arts, unarmed combat, and tactics came to him with an uncanny ease. 

Still he had to study - but included in his study were myths and legends, that he now knew were true.  Phillipe told him that the key to any victory in the hunt was understanding what you hunted, so he poured through texts of rougarou, draikana, dreykan, banniks, oni, and other monsters, learning all he could about them.

Recreation time was still granted, even if it didn’t feel like it was enough, and Claude began to make some friends. While studying and training, Claude was able to keep his homosexual feelings pressed down, but during these recreational times with friends, it was more difficult.  At fourteen, Claude met Marcel, a boy his age, and they developed a close bond.  As they began to spend more time together, Claude realized that his feelings were passing beyond friendship into something more.  It started with hands accidentally touching as they walked, causing both to turn towards each other and smile; It then moved to hand holding, and interlacing fingers. It was with Marcel that Claude shared his first kiss, and it was with Marcel that his shame grew.  He wanted this, but his faith told him he was in sin.  After Marcel would leave, Claude would go to his room and pray once more for God to forgive, and more importantly fix him.

But Marcel was hard to resist, and Claude found the same thing happening over and over.  It wasn’t until Nora had found them, that it actually ended.  It had been the same as every other day but when they had finished, Claude saw the figure of Nora walking away, and it was clear to him that she had seen him.

”I can’t do this,” Claude told Marcel and walked away.

Claude didn’t go straight back to the house.  He didn’t want to see Nora right now, but he couldn’t stay out too long, so he eventually headed back and locked himself in his room for his customary prayer.  When supper was called, he declined, feigning illness. Claude pulled out his rosary and began the ritual prayers, flinching at every sound in the hallway.  Finally he gave up, pulled out his wallet and sent Nora a message.  He had to talk to her.

”Please come talk to me.”

A knock came at his a few minutes later, and Claude muttered, tears falling from his eyes. ”Come in.”

The door opened, and Nora entered, took a seat next to him and said, ”What’s going on?”

Claude took a moment to compose himself, ”I know you saw…I…I…” he stuttered, trying to form the right words. ”I’ve tried…I’ve tried to like girls…Nora, I know I’m gay. I’m so confused.  They keep telling me this is wrong. God doesn’t hear my prayers and won’t fix it. I’m scared.  I’m proud to be a Saint-Clair, but scared that they’re all going to be ashamed of me like I am.”

She put an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I saw, but i'm also glad I saw. Because now we can talk about this together." She turned his face toward her with a tip of his chin, a reassuring smile on her face. "I don't know if being gay is a sin or not, but what I do know is that God created you exactly the way you are. With your fuzzy hair, your big ears, and your cute little nose. If you are this perfect on the outside, you are perfect on the inside. And if you're scared, we won't tell anyone. Not until you're ready."

”You really think so?” Claude asked, feeling a little better at her words.

"Of course. You're MY brother. And we both know that I'm completely perfect, which means you are too." She squeezed his shoulders, knowing that he would probably take her quip as a joke.

Claude laughed at her joke, and wiped his eyes, wrapping his sister in a hug. ”Thanks, Nora - for now - don’t tell anyone, please.”

Nora got serious for a moment. "Of course not. Do you want to tell me about this crush? When I was 14, I made out with this guy from school in our gazebo. He was the first boy I ever kissed. Funny thing was, I didn't even like him. I had this huge crush on another boy, but he never seemed interested in me at all even though he flirted with me so much. So I asked his best friend out, we just went for a walk on the grounds, and when we got back, we kissed. That got the first one's attention." She smiled wickedly.

Claude laughed and thanked Nora again.  Telling her he was feeling better, he went down to get some food. First he sent Marcel a message, apologizing for what happened.  They would see each other again until Marcel eventually moved away. Confiding in Nora did not remove the shame he felt at being a homosexual, but he had significantly more peace with it.

Her talk made him want to question some of his beliefs.  The core was still there, but could they be interpreting scripture wrong.  That night as he was reading his bible, he came across a verse that resonated with him differently now. 

“Thus says the Lord: Act with justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor anyone who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place.” - Jeremiah 22:3

Learning about the Atharim there had always been one thing that had bothered him.  They would kill reborn gods, wolfkin, and others for being a potential threat.  To Claude, that didn’t seem like justice and it felt like shedding innocent blood.  He kept these thoughts to himself. They were dangerous.

The years passed and his training continued.  Nora found a relic that had attracted even the attention of the Regus himself.  She had found a weapon - possibly one that could kill a God.  Claude kept his inner conflict on killing those who committed no crime other than existing to himself, but paid attention nonetheless.

At eighteen, Claude took his final vows at the Vatican, cementing his allegiance to the Atharim cause. He continued hunting in the area while Nora tried to find postings elsewhere.  He always made himself available for her to vent should she want to; at the very least he could tell she was frustrated.

Nora then left, but few knew her true reason.  She informed him of the rumors of Grym in the Carpathian Mountains and meant to find her, and later he received a communication that Grym was going to Moscow and she was following. The Conclave was underway, and war was brewing.

In the aftermath following the fire at the Atharim HQ in Moscow, the Saint-Clair Family heard nothing from Nora.  Months had passed and they received not a word.  Claude was summoned by his father and instructed to go to Moscow to find her. Claude hadn’t needed the instruction.  He had been uneasy in France since Nora had left, and her silence had just solidified that.  He would have gone anyway.  Being told to do it, just made it an easier choice.

Past Lives:

Third Age: King Aemon of Manetheran

Seventh Age: King Leonidas of Sparta


((OoC: Nora dialogue by Nora))

Name: Jia Xin Kao

Age: 26

Origin: Singapore

Powers: Channeler (learner)
Reborn God: Inari Ōkami - Shinto

Biography:

The jewel of the Kao crown, Jia Xin lives like a princess in the Garden City. Every whim, need, and desire is catered for – without her ever having to ask. From grand palatial residences to jetsetting tours of East Asia, she’s accustomed to living like literal royalty, both in astronomical wealth and widespread reverence wherever she goes. As a member of the Kao family she has received an impeccable education, but of course she has never had to work a day in her life – at least not in the ordinary sense. It's truly debatable whether she has any concept of what an ordinary life would be like.

The Church was like a second home, Sasha still felt most comfortable among the rock and debris of the undercity. It was his home, it had been his home since coming to Moscow. And before that in the ruins of the CEZ, he felt like he belonged in those worlds -- old and broken and lost to civilization.

Sasha was still reeling from the woman who had attacked him. The way his hand lit up with fire, and her clothes ignited under his touch. It was the power of the shard. The world was clear and bright but now as he sat in the corner of the safe haven clutching the grotesque glass in his hand breathing deeply the world faded to the ugliness that Sasha knew it to be.

His heart raced in his chest, beating like a drum keeping time in a parade marching to war. He felt tired and broken. But Sasha closed his eyes and focused on his breathe and his heart trying to slow it to a normal pace, the shard in his hand clutched to his chest muttering softly to himself. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

1 minute. 10 minutes. An hour later, Sasha's body came to rest. His pulse returned to normal and he was chilled from the sweat covering his body. The cold tile of the floor and the stone walls did not offer any heat. Sasha went in search of something to warm himself by -- a fire that would burn into his soul. Something to warm him and calm the rest of his anxieties. He was feeling better, but he desired the heat and burn of the fire.

He’d been in a kind of fog ever since the House Party. Not the harmless, dreamy sort of fog either, but the thick, clinging kind that makes you forget what day it is or why you even got out of bed.

The nights blurred together, slipping through his fingers like water. Entire evenings spent hunched over his desk, the glow of his screens the only light in the room. Voxel had never been so busy—chat rooms, dark-web auctions, forums he didn’t even remember signing into. He couldn’t recall much about those nights, only fragments: a Hello Kitty avatar, a snatch of distorted laughter, and a bid for something he didn’t understand. The Key.

When he finally emerged from his condo, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because his back had seized up from sitting too long, cramping hard enough to make him wince with every step. He thought about calling a masseuse—somebody to come and untangle the knots in his muscles—but the sites he found were full of yoga-speak and holistic garbage. He powered the screens off. No way was he letting some crystal-toting hippie touch him, at least unless it came with a happy ending.

Instead, he pulled on his leather jacket and left. It was cold on the streets of Moscow, but the chill woke him up, if only a little. The plan—if he could call it that—was to head to the parkour gym and sweat out whatever was twisting him up inside. But somewhere between the condo and the metro, his body stopped taking orders.

By the time he snapped out of it, he was standing on the docks, staring at a stretch of chain-link fence like it had dragged him there itself.

The docks smelled like rust, oil, and something sour that made Jaxen’s stomach churn. The Moskva River whispered to itself in the dark, slapping lazily against the pylons as if it didn’t care one bit about him or his problems. Overhead, the sky hung like a damp wool blanket, heavy and suffocating. It should have been quiet here—this was the kind of place where quiet ruled—but the air was alive with sounds: groaning metal, the faint hum of machinery, the occasional bark of voices muffled by distance. 

He didn’t know why he was here.

He pulled out his Wallet to figure out where he was when he discovered a message glowing faintly. 

Find the one who knows.

The words felt more like a whisper than a command. Like they’d crawled into his head through the cracks that had been forming ever since the party. Ever since the Emissary. Ever since he’d let—something—inside.

Jaxen shivered and tightened his scarf around his throat. He told himself it was because of the wind, but that was a lie. The cold out here was nothing compared to the icy knot twisting in his gut. He tried to focus, to think, but his thoughts slipped through his fingers like oil. It wasn’t just the gaps in his memory now—it was something else. Something bigger. Something inside.

A sound cut through the hum of the docks: footsteps, steady and deliberate, crunching against gravel. Jaxen turned, ready to seize the Ancient Power if needed.

The man who stepped out of the shadows was broad-shouldered, with a heavy coat that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade. The hood hung low over his face, casting it in darkness, but the mechanical arm glinted in the dim light. It wasn’t sleek or smooth; this was no cutting-edge prosthetic. It was jagged, brutal, all exposed pistons and scarred metal. The kind of thing that belonged in nightmares or bad war stories.

The man stopped a few paces away, close enough for Jaxen to see the faint puff of his breath in the cold air. 
“Voxel,” the man said, his voice low and rough, like gravel grinding underfoot. 

Jaxen blinked, his mind stuttering. That name. That arm. He’d heard stories in the kind of places where rumors grew like weeds, places where people got drunk enough to start talking too loud. Stories about The Hook.

Except The Hook was suppose to be bullshit.

“You’re shitting me,” Jaxen said, his voice thin. His pulse thumped loud in his ears. 

The man chuckled, the sound sharp and bitter. 
“Heard of me, huh? Good. Saves us time.”

“You can’t be for real?” Jaxen shook his head, trying to shake off the fog, the disorientation.

“Depends on who you ask,” the man said. He took a step closer, and the mechanical arm hissed faintly as it moved. Jaxen flinched before he could stop himself. 

“You wipe your ass with that thing? Or did you learn to do it left-handed?”

The Hook tilted his head, his hood shifting just enough for Jaxen to catch the glint of sharp eyes beneath it. 
“You want to find out?”

The joke had run its course by then. Jaxen shook his head.

The Hook snorted, and for a moment, Jaxen thought he might actually try to show him. But then the man’s face—or what Jaxen could see of it—hardened. 
“You’ve been making noise, Voxel. Poking around where you shouldn’t. Bidding on things you don’t understand. Now you’re here, and I want to know why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaxen said quickly. Too quickly. 

The Hook didn’t answer. He just stared, and Jaxen felt like that stare was peeling him apart layer by layer, looking for the truth buried somewhere inside him. 
“What do you want then? I doubt you’re my guardian angel.” Jaxen said, the words snapping out like a rubber band stretched too tight.

The Hook moved closer, and the dim light caught on the jagged lines of his arm, on the grease stains and scratches that told a story Jaxen didn’t want to know. 
“It’s about what you need. And right now, I’d bet what you need is a way out of this mess you’ve wandered into.”

A sudden thought stirred then, a faint hum in the back of Jaxen’s skull. It wasn’t a voice—never a voice—but it was something else. A nudge. A shove. An instinct that was his, but wasn’t his. 

“I’m looking for someone,” Jaxen said, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. 

The Hook’s eyes narrowed. “Someone like who?”

Jaxen hesitated, but the thought pushed again. “Bode.” 

The Hook didn’t move, didn’t blink. For a long moment, he just stared at Jaxen, and Jaxen wondered if he’d made a mistake saying the name. Then The Hook smiled, slow and sharp, like a knife dragging across skin. 

“Bode,” he said, tasting the name like it was some exotic dish.

Jaxen’s chest tightened. “Do you know where they are?” 

“No,” The Hook said. His smile didn’t falter. “But I know someone who will.”

“Who?” 

The Hook’s grin widened, and the mechanical arm hissed faintly as he raised it. “Someone who doesn’t work for free.”

“What’s the price?” Jaxen asked, though he wasn’t sure if the question was his or not. He never really cared about money.

The Hook leaned in, his voice gritty with a rasp. “The kind you pay in blood, Voxel. You still interested?”

Jaxen didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. But somewhere deep inside, his thoughts stirred again, and the decision was already made. 

To be continued...

[[The docks location is near a known entrance to the Undercity]]

Age: 21

Origin: Born near the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone

Occupation: Drug Dealer for Zeke

Physical Description: He has a sharp, angular face with dark piercing eyes, framed by dark, tousled hair. He has a pale complexion from his dire lack of sunlight.

Powers: Channeler
Reborn God: Chernobog (Black God) - Slavic
Skill: New
Current: 26
Max: 37
Block: Must have a piece of melted-glass in his hand if he wants to channel.  He took the glass from an excursion into the CEZ when he was teenager and believes it is the source of his powers.

Biography:

Sasha was born in a small, isolated village near the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, surrounded by superstition and fear of radiation.  His parents barely made ends meet doing odd jobs. As Sasha grew up with the fear and superstition he was curious and explored the CEZ. During one of his excursions he found a shared of glass melded with metal. Shortly after finding it a group of scavengers attacked him but some how he survived. That is when he began to believe that the shared was powerful.

Sasha was always an outcast even his parents hadn't fully understood his desires. Fire was just a means of feeling something. Everything was always dull and felt broken if he didn't feel the heat of the fire. 

When Sasha was 10 he started a fire in his bathroom that quickly got out of control. It set the whole building ablaze and many people, including his parents died in the fire.

After his parents died in a fire the other villagers chased him out of town with fire and stones. Sasha had never trusted people before, but now that distrust grew to untold heights.

Sasha fled into the CEZ to try to find a place to stay, but after he soon left and wandered the country side taking odd jobs here and there like his parents and moving on when people began to look at him differently. 

Sasha made his way to Moscow eventually and there he found a home in the tunnels of the Great City. He worked whatever jobs he could get.

At first it started out as running errands, and then as he got a feel for the city itself he started peddling whatever anyone was willing to let him sell.  Sasha didn't run with any one crowd  in the beginning.  It wasn't until he found The Angel of the Undercity on the advice of one of the older kids he'd met. Raffe was a friend, but they weren't extremely close. Sasha never really got close to anyone, his distrust of people from his childhood still never really overcome.

Sasha started working for Zeke exclusively peddling whatever was hottest on the market at the time. His numbers had always been good, and he never sampled the goods. His own proclivities relying on the flame within rather than numbing or stimming his senses.

Sasha's clientele wasn't the high end or even the less fortunate, he sold to middle class moms and dads who thought they were better than he was but never had any problem buying from him -- some kid who their kids didn't know. He was good at the job and made enough money to stay off the street, but he preferred the comforts of the tunnels -- the anonymity of it all.

Sasha was there the day strange dark creatures tore through their camp ripping through tents and people alike. He watched from a crevice where he liked to hide as a group of people came flooding in. They killed the creatures and the people who had been ravaged and then cleansed the place with fire. He knew one face -- everyone knew that face, but his was not the face that stuck with him as he fled the underground city with the rest.

Sasha ran with the others afraid of the people and the fire. He stayed in the church with the others for a while but sought to comfort of the tunnels again. But before he could find an entrance he was way laid by a group of thugs wearing track suits. He didn't have anything of importance on him just the shared. And when they tried to take it from him a burst of violent energy emanated from his hands. The blast leveled the warehouses around them.

Sasha ran.

Weeks later he was on death's door.  A fever so high he could barely think. He'd found a safe place in an abandoned warehouse where he could curl up and die, but after a week of hell Sasha felt fine, like nothing had happened.

Weeks later a man came after him in his hidey-hole. The man had followed him there and when he came at him with a gun pointed Sasha panicked grabbing on to the shard and asking for its protection once again.  Flames engulfed the man and he screamed.

Sasha ran again and again a few weeks later Sasha was on death's door.  And once again he recovered, though he felt like he was sick longer.

A month later, a woman approached him looking to score. He sold her a small quantity before she had him backed into an alley and a knife at his throat.  Sasha fumbled the shard in his hand and it fell to the ground.  He heard a tiny crack and he reached into the madness and anger and pushed the woman away with a fiery hand and roared in fury. 

Sasha bent down and picked up the fragile shard and scurried away before the woman could recover.

Sasha ran again, this time he ran to the church to find safe haven. Why were these people chasing him, trying to kill him.  What had he done to them?

Born Kōta Matsumoto (松本康太), an Atharim hunter in self-imposed exile due to his sister’s discovery that she is a channeler. After six years travelling the Custody, he insisted they journey to Moscow seeking the Ascendancy’s promised asylum.

Age: 34
Origin: Kyoto, Japan
Height: 6’2”
Occupation: Atharim

• A B O U T •

Kōta is tall and strong. He wears his hair long, and maintains a neat beard cut close to his face. Unlike his sister, he does not care to fit in. He dresses well, and has an amenable disposition with strangers. Most find him easy and compelling company.

Although he has a strict internal moral code, which foreigners might find strange, Kōta has long since diverged from the teachings of his youth. He bears no great guilt for this, for he places his love and loyalty for his sister above all other duty. The inherent contradictions in protecting a channeler his oaths have sworn him to purge for the good of humanity do not seem to bother him. He does not hunt channelers unless he has a reason, but does not baulk at killing a human if he believes it is the right thing to do.

Kōta loves animals, and has a fascination in particular with those most dangerous and exotic. He dabbles in trade, and liberates those he considers ill treated, which on occasion causes he and Chihiro trouble. One of his greatest regrets is the necessity to leave his goshawk Yua behind when he and Chihiro fled Japan.

• A T H A R I M •

Kōta’s strict childhood always chafed. He was a diligent student, but also something of a miscreant. When Chihiro was born when Kōta was nine years old, he loved her instantly.

2040s revelation that those of god descent might be found within the remnant itself shook him badly. Though the strict tenures of honour were ingrained into his soul, he began to doubt. He did not fear taking his own life, should such be necessary, but the idea of losing kin to such an indiscriminate disease filled him with fear.

Though he already dabbled in the illegal animal trade, particularly of exotics, he began to foster connections amongst the Yakuza in Osaka. Even then, perhaps, he was starting to search for ways he might extricate himself from his life.

Chihiro’s spark on Mount Atago was the catalyst that pushed him, with no regret, towards action. He did not question the pull of his own heart. She was not evil, and he could not see her die.

When he returned home to relay news to family and clan of Chihiro’s death at the hands of the onmoraki, he sought permission to leave Japan. It was not granted, and thus he fled.

• T A T T O O S • & • S C A R S •

Kōta’s tattoo is fairly simple, featuring two entwined snakes, one of them a skeleton. He has not had it recovered, and its easily enough hidden. He has no other tattoos

He has an array of various scars, both from hunting and from his work with birds of prey (and other animals).

It’s not uncommon for him to be sporting some fresh injury.

• S K I L L S •

Kōta is skilled with the traditional katana and wakizashi, and trained in various martial arts. He is competent with the yumi also, favouring the larger daikyū. His size and strength make him a formidable opponent. Though he employs modern tech for defence and armour, when he can get his hands on it at least, he prefers not to use firearms.

He is also confidant with handling animals of all kinds, but particularly knowledgeable about birds of prey. Kōta facilitates trade, and also consults on training and care, this being the main source of their legitimate income. Unknown to Chihiro this has included the procurement of supernatural trophies for collectors, and sometimes ingredients for supposed arcana. He refuses to provide live specimens.

• E D U C A T I O N •

His training afforded him an extensive and rigorous education, and he is a well learned man. He tends to rely on Chihiro’s encyclopedic knowledge when they encounter unfamiliar creatures of the supernatural variety. Growing up, he always favoured the practical, for he is something of a thrill-seeker, preferring to learn through experience rather than through books.

• C O N N E C T I O N S •

Kōta still fosters some Atharim connections, despite Chihiro’s shunning of the life, though her deal with Zephyr means both their names have been purged from the lists. He has links with the Yakuza. Though Kōta is unaware, he has also had contact with members of the network.

Continued from here

The ride ended and Rhi was in his lap. He had pulled her there moments after she had begun to guide his hand outside of her thigh. Her eyes pulled him in until he was intoxicated by her, her allure stronger than the scotch he had drunk at the Manifesto.  Still, despite the scandalous display in the back of a cab, they moved slowly, exchanging kisses until they arrived at his place.  He was certain neither one of them wanted this to end in the cab.  Eddie didn't think about how this was the first time he had reacted this quickly to a woman's charms.  The woman had enthralled him, pulling him in slowly, but surely. At first, he had waited, almost asking permission to continue, but as time kept going, everything had begun to open like a floodgate.

Reluctantly, the pair had to calm down just long enough to get into the apartment. He paid the cabbie, certain that he had gotten a wink from the man as he did, wrapped his arm around her waist and led her inside.  When the door shut behind them, they returned to their passions as Eddie gently guided Rhi slowly and carefully to the bedroom. With the bedroom door shut behind them, he pinned her to the door, kisses trailing down her jawline to her neck. Eddie's hand traveled up from her waist, up her back, finding the zipper, he began to pull it down.

Nora was born in 2022. Her mother had hoped for a home birth in the Saint-Clair family’s ancestral chateau near Saint-Clair-sur-Epte in Normandy, but the estate was too far removed from the comforts of modern medical technology. When the labor took a sudden and dangerous turn, an emergency helicopter rushed her to a private hospital in Paris. Both mother and baby survived the ordeal, and Nora was born healthy and strong. However, the scare left the family shaken, and their protective instincts shaped Nora’s carefully contained childhood.

That protectiveness backfired spectacularly. Nora’s adventurous nature thrived despite their restrictions, or perhaps because of them. She shirked her lessons whenever possible, escaping to the outdoors where she climbed trees, splashed in creeks, and caught all manner of insects and critters. Her aristocratic family, aghast at her wild streak, tried in vain to curb her tomboyish tendencies, but Nora was utterly undeterred.

She had one younger sibling and little interest in her cousins, who were too polished and reserved for her liking. Instead, Nora bonded with Tanis Peregrym, a member of a family who had loyally served the Saint-Clairs for centuries. With Nora’s knack for recklessness, Tanis—older by nearly two decades—was assigned to act as her minder. Somewhere between nanny, older sister, tutor, and bodyguard, Tanis became an unshakable presence in Nora’s life. Despite her strict, no-nonsense demeanor, which earned her the nickname "Grym," Nora adored her.

Nora’s 13th birthday was supposed to be a Parisian party with friends, or so she thought. Instead, the family arranged a celebration at their ancestral home in Saint-Clair-sur-Epte. Extended relatives arrived from Switzerland and Scotland, turning the day into something closer to a grand family reunion than a child’s birthday. Even the family’s priest attended. Nora was disappointed at first, but curiosity overtook her frustration.

It was on this day that Nora was brought into the Saint-Clair family’s confidence. They shared the secrets of their heritage: the family’s ties to the Knights Templar, the legend of Jean de Saint-Clair and the demon in the woods, and their sacred alliance with the Atharim. Surrounded by her family, Nora was shown the dagger of Benedictus, the silver blade her ancestor used to slay the Loup Garou. The gravity of their revelations, coupled with the solemnity of the occasion, left no room for doubt in her mind. This was no elaborate prank. It was her legacy.

From that moment, her training began under Grym’s guidance. Tanis was an Atharim Hunter, descended from a knight who had been saved by Jean de Saint-Clair and the mysterious monk Benedictus centuries ago. That knight, along with his descendants, had sworn eternal loyalty to the Saint-Clairs. Grym now took it upon herself to prepare Nora for the family’s sacred mission.

At 16, after years of relentless training, Nora convinced her family to allow her on a hunt. It was meant to prove her bravery, but the experience went horribly wrong. Nora was wounded, though she suffered no lasting damage. Grym, however, was held responsible and banished from service. The loss devastated Nora. Grym obeyed her dismissal without question, disappearing into eastern Europe, leaving behind an empty void in Nora’s life.

For Nora, hunting was forbidden from then on. She was confined to studying Atharim lore, a task she found tedious and suffocating. Still, she begrudgingly complied, though she secretly kept up with her combat skills. Over time, she threw herself into exercise, weightlifting, and running, becoming disciplined in her physical health. She vowed to return to hunting someday, even if it had to wait until she came of age.

When Nora finished her formal schooling, she spent her evenings studying Atharim lore and restoring and digitizing the family’s collection of artifacts. Their ancestral basement was piled high with ancient books, relics, and oddities in need of care. In 2040, when she was 18, one particular discovery changed everything.

She found a wooden box whose boards were near to crumbling with age and moisture. She easily pried the old nails out, careful to avoid cutting herself on rust easily 100 years old. On the lid was carved the word levante. She simply shrugged and tossed the lid aside.

She immediately recoiled as a foul stench hit her—a mix of rotted hay and moldy paper. Grimacing, she dug out the upper layer until she spied something solid. It was a thin piece of ivory carved into the shape of a human tongue, etched with intricate foreign script. The anatomical detail was disturbingly lifelike, and Nora couldn’t suppress a shiver as she snapped a picture for analysis. Using an AI translator, she uncovered the meaning of the first inscription: